Stars Are Waiting
by Nylah
Summary: Mal is in a hurry and River has her own way of doing things. Written for Cordria's June contest 'She was running down the alley...'


A/N: Written for Cordria's June contest 'She was running down the alley...'

Disclaimer: I do not own Firefly.

**

* * *

STARS ARE WAITING**

* * *

She was running down the ally, feet light as the wind, her boots hardly touching the ground. Stars sparkled above her in the narrow patch of night sky visible from the ground. She could have danced and jumped, swirling up and down, using the walls as if they were the ground, seemingly defying gravity. If she had done as she pleased she'd have shed her high laced boots and would have gone running barefoot. The boots made her feel clumsy, she needed to touch the ground she was dancing on, but Mal had insisted. And somehow if Mal insisted, she complied.

"Ain't gonna do us much good if they think our pilot's wacko," he had said, "No pilot goes running barefoot in these parts. Or any part of this God forsaken moon. Too many sharp things laying about."

He had moved away from her. She had smiled and read his thoughts.

"Oh," he had thought, "Come to think of it, no pilot goes out running for fun anyhow. So stay put. No running around barefoot, you hear?"

"Yes Capt'n," she had said in a sweet voice, mimicking Kaylee.

Then she had withdrawn, because Mal had found the perfect way to drive her out of his mind. She didn't like the darkness that he had access to, that he could call forth at will, and most of all she didn't like that he had to do it to keep her away. As much as it affected her, the gruesome images, they affected him more.

Not that anyone would know what he was thinking by looking at him. She doubted even Zoe knew what he really thought, and nobody knew Mal better than Zoe. And River. But she knew everybody, even the Reavers.

Not liking where her thoughts were going, she closed her eyes while continuing on her dance, her run, her temporary escape. She wasn't really disobeying Mal. After all, she was wearing boots.

* * *

"Where is that girl."

With a forced smile on his face and his jaw firmly clenched, Mal Reynolds, captain of the Firefly-class spaceship 'Serenity', for hire to do any job – legal or illegal – and currently lacking a pilot, was slowly walking down the loading ramp towards his visitors. They were a seedy bunch, five of them. The leader was standing a little in front of the others, thumbs hooked rather obviously in his gun belt. Mal made a point of revealing his own gun before stopping in what could be considered a polite, but prudent distance.

"Malcolm Reynolds," the leader said, "Where's my cargo?"

Mal viewed the five men, appraising them. He knew that behind his back, inside the cargo hold of the ship, both Zoe and Jayne had their guns aimed at them. It made him feel only slightly safer. If they decided to shoot him, they very well might get a shot in before either Jayne or Zoe took them out, and they knew it too.

Well. It wouldn't be the first time he got shot. But he preferred not to.

"Perry." Mal bowed his head politely, but kept his eyes trained on the man. "I sent you a wave."

Perry shrugged, leaned back somewhat and shook his head. His thumbs were still firmly hooked in his belt, but Mal noted that he needed to move his right hand only an inch or so to draw his gun.

"Yeah, you did," Perry said, "By mistake, I'm sure. Something about dumping my cargo because of an inspection by an alliance cruiser, and how it is now lost in the asteroid belt near Three Hills. Real funny, in fact, hilarious. See me laugh?"

He pointed at his face, which remained as stony as ever. The four men behind him remained motionless, though one of them bared this teeth a little.

"Now," Perry said, stepping closer and actually placing one foot on the ramp. "Where. Is. My. Cargo."

Mal smiled apologetically. "It's the risk you take, see," he said, "Every once in a while, cargo gets lost."

Perry's eyes flashed. Behind him, the four men started moving restlessly, which in turn made Mal nervous. A shootout here not only would be very unpleasant as far as almost surely getting hit went, but also would attract unwanted attention of the – admittedly, not very observant – authorities. Lenient and corrupt as they were, they wouldn't be able to ignore something as obvious as a shooting here at the dock. And chances were they'd find the contraband stashed away behind the panels in the cargo bay.

"So if you ain't got my cargo, I expect to be reimbursed."

* * *

It was a glitch, a spark, an instinct. Or maybe Mal's rather loud, annoyed thoughts about her whereabouts, though unlikely at this distance. In any case, she suddenly stopped running, tilted her head and listened.

* * *

Tension rose, and Mal moved his hand a little towards his gun. This, he knew, was going to go bad real quick. He wished the loading had gone quicker. He also wished he had his pilot. And then his wish was granted.

A blur jumped in between the five men, disarming two of them in one sweep, tripping another before Perry had even half turned around and sweeping the fourth off his feet, making him fall flat on his back. Then she stopped, a motionless figure, long hair sweeping in front of her face.

Mal couldn't see Perry's face, but he imagined him gaping at the girl who had just disarmed his four goons. Feeling slightly safer, he stepped up next to Perry and put his right hand on his shoulder, using his left to quickly sweep his gun.

"Perry," he said friendlily, "Always nice doin' business with you. But the risk is yours, and you knew that." He squeezed his shoulder. "Be seeing ya."

"Stars are waiting," River said.


End file.
